


Sometime After Dinner

by Deviant



Category: Lethal Weapon (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Nonmonogamous Relationship, Other, Pining, Polyamory, no smut yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-09-27 00:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9939965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deviant/pseuds/Deviant
Summary: Riggs doesn't know how he keeps getting invites to Murtaugh family dinners, and yet they keep happening.  Trish drinks wine with a soft smile.  Roger laughs and enthralls everyone with epic stories.  RJ and Riana yearn for independence - and then get lectured.  Riggs, well, drinks.  Everything comfortable and normal.Until Riggs overhears Trish and Roger on the baby monitor.---Started writing this quite a few episodes ago, ergo, canon divergence.





	1. An Unheard Answer

Riggs doesn’t know how he manages to get invited to so many dinners at the Murtaugh home, but he doesn’t mind. Not really. He doesn’t understand how a busy attorney and swamped cop manage to have so many family dinners, but apparently they do. Still, he’s a little surprised he hasn’t outstayed his welcome. 

At first the dinners made him imagine the dinners he would have had with his own family. His brain spins and spins with the idea of him leaving work before closing a case for a meal with his child and wife, his son licking the spoon after a baking lesson, Miranda’s blouse dusted with flour… He’s almost happy at first, but the longer he thinks on it the more it sets in that he’ll never experience that. 

Roger and Trish aren’t the type not to notice his occasionally deflated moods, but they don’t make a big deal out of it. Maybe he’s reading into it, but Trish seems to touch him a lot more casually now. 

“May I please be excused?” RJ asks, cutting into his sister’s intense explanation of school district politics. 

“Uh excuse me?!” Roger whispers, making a vague gesture towards Riggs that says you-should-stay-until-our-guest-leaves-it’s-rude-boy. 

RJ mouths something that looks like “but homework” and Riana stops shooting him a dirty look long enough to look eagerly at her father for the go-ahead. 

“Alright, fine,” Roger says, feigning exasperation. Riggs watches as Roger looks down the length of the table at Trish. Both with small smiles across their mouths. Chairs bang against the table as the kids take off. The sound of them dropping their plates in the kitchen sink can be heard from where Riggs is sitting beside Roger. 

“So Martin,” Trish says, her mouth hiding behind her wine glass, “how’s the beach treating you?” 

“It’s lovely. You know, loud birds, sand, kind of wish I could take a hot shower sometimes…” Riggs runs a hand through his hair, leaning back away from the table. “But it’s home, y’know?” 

“Roger’s told me it’s beautiful. I’d love to see it sometime if you wouldn’t mind.” 

“Not at all, you should come by,” Riggs smiles. He’s vaguely aware that Roger’s probably told her about it being Miranda’s spot, and maybe it’s a little weird that he’s been over to the Murtaugh home a dozen times and Mrs. Murtaugh barely knows where his trailer is located. He can hardly imagine her standing amongst his trash in one of her nice suits, hair and makeup immaculate. 

For a second he imagines her slipping her stilettos off to walk in the sand, and then he pushes the thought away. 

“And your dog? How’s he?” Trish asks. 

“Good, good. He likes all the same food as me so shopping is really convenient.” There’s a chuckle coming from beside him. Riggs chuckles too, the sound of him and Rog laughing mingling together. 

They’re interrupted by a whimper on the baby monitor. Trish rises knowing that it’s her turn since Roger put Harper to bed. She smooths out her tight red dress and then motions with a tilt of her head for Roger to follow her. 

“Want to help me upstairs, baby?” she asks, mouth curving sweetly. 

Roger looks surprised, but only for a second before he pushes back from the table and sets his napkin down. He follows, sliding his hand up his wife’s back before they disappear up the staircase. Somehow Riggs always imagines they're talking about him, but he suspects that’s a mix of paranoia and narcissism. It’s not like their world revolves around him. 

Coos ease out of the baby monitor as Riggs starts picking up dishes. He’s careful not to clink the dishes too much so that he can hear Harper’s tiny noises as she calms down. With the wine glasses collected and most of the dirty dishes stacked up he manages to carry them all to the sink in one trip. He turns the water on and rolls up his sleeves and gets to work washing them clean. 

The Murtaugh home is beautiful, luxurious in a lot of ways. It’s more than anything Riggs would have ever been able to afford, but he doesn’t feel uncomfortable. A detective’s salary hardly comes close to what's needed for the mortgage. Trish is the breadwinner in the relationship. 

A wine glass floats to the surface of water. He knows it’s Trish’s by a smear of red lipstick still left on the rim. Miranda preferred nudes and pinks… 

A thud upstairs breaks his train of thought, and then scuff sounds as a chair is shuffled around. Riggs finishes the dishes as quickly as possible and then hunts through cupboards for aluminum foil. He snags a roll and then heads back into the dining room to wrap up the leftovers. 

“Honestly, Roger.” 

It’s Trish’s voice that comes through over the baby monitor. The sound cracks. She’s obviously not standing right next to the receiver. Riggs hesitates for a second, but then tears off a sheet. It’s not listening in if they know there’s a baby monitor. 

“Come on, Trish. What are you even asking me?” Roger replies. 

“That’s what it looks like. If you could only see yourself.” 

“Looks like what?” Roger asks. Riggs almost smiles. The man is clearly caught and trying to wiggle out of something. 

“It looks like you’re attracted to him,” Trish says. It comes out soft, and the baby monitor cracks again, but Riggs can clearly make out what is being said. A breath stops in his chest. 

"Roger, do you like Riggs?" 

Riggs turns away, green beans left uncovered, and walks to the door. 

He jogs down the steps, truck keys drawn from his pocket. 

Riggs doesn’t hear Roger’s answer.


	2. Mornings

Roger's day starts early while Riggs’ starts late. 

Harper’s up and getting a little fussy before any of the alarm clocks go off.  Roger rolls out of bed, wiping at his eyes as he heads into the nursery.  “Hi, good morning sweetheart” he coos as he scoops her up.  She’s an easy baby, just stops crying almost immediately and snuggles into her father.  He kisses her forehead and breathes in the smell of baby powder, then yawns unceremoniously into her ear. 

Roger sits in the rocking chair and just holds her to his chest, rocking slightly.  She doesn’t know it but her little fist is clenched around the fabric of his shirt just over the scar from his heart surgery.  It’s nice knowing that he and his baby are fated. 

Based on the light shining through the window he has a few more minutes until he needs to start moving.  He yawns again and tilts his head back, closing his eyes but not trying to fall asleep. 

Another restless night thanks to Riggs. 

Except not really.  Sure he sometimes lost sleep over Riggs' antics, or the reminder of his aging body struggling to keep up with his younger partner, or the wondering about how he would survive if he lost what Riggs had lost.  His lack of sleep this past night rested solely on Trish’s shoulders. 

Was he attracted to Riggs? 

He shook himself and got to his feet.  He knocked on bedroom doors as he made his way downstairs.  Thanks to an automatic timer the kitchen already smells like coffee, a great pillar of tired professionals the world over.  It’s time to get lost in the hustle and bustle of a five-person family.   

Riggs’ sleeps in.  It’s not until his phone starts ringing that he manages to fully wake up.  Feeling around on the floor by his couch he finds his phone.  “Riggs speaking.” 

“Boy!  Are you on your way?” Roger’s voice comes in over the line. 

Processing the words takes longer than usual.  “Uhh, yeah, sure,” he answers. 

“…I texted you the address to the crime scene, just hurry up and get here.” 

“Will do, buddy.”  Riggs lets Roger hang up first.  Odd, Roger doesn’t _sound_ attracted him. 

Riggs snorts and stumbles to his feet.  If the number of bottles around his feet are any indication he may have overdone the self-medicating yesterday.  He digs around until he finds fairly clean clothes with the added bonus of not having been worn yesterday.  A poptart later and he’s on the road. 

Riggs watches his trailer disappear in the rear-view mirror.  He scratches his head with a hand and then begrudgingly lets his mind wander where it wants to.  Roger isn't attracted to him, but hypothetically if he was what the hell would that even mean?  If Trish is any indication Roger can't possibly have such poor taste in people. 

Maybe it’s a midlife crisis.  Yeah, because nothing screams my-best-years-are-behind-me quite like… whatever Roger is thinking.  Should Riggs be worried?  Are they going to have to have an intervention for his partner?  Is Riggs going to have to become the stable one? 

Riggs lets out a long groan and tries to loosen his grip on the steering wheel.  Eventually he finds himself in a working class neighborhood that houses his crime scene.  Truck wheels squeal as he swerves and parks abruptly.   

A couple unis guard a red house with a small crowd gathering outside the police tape.  A short woman with black hair looks concerned, and two people hold on to each other as they watch the scene, but it’s hard to tell if the rest of the onlookers are sad or just hungry for news.  Riggs flashes his badge to gain entry and bounds up the walkway. 

“What do we have here?”  He calls out.  The house smells faintly of lavender. 

“In here,” Bailey answers.   

Bailey’s out of sight but Riggs can guess where she is.  He moves through a simple living room and into a kitchen.  On the other side of the kitchen island, sprawled across the floor, is a dead woman.  She’s young with large eyes and tan skin and loose, brunette waves spread out across the tiled floor.  Her bathrobe and the tile surrounding her are both sticky with blood.  One slipper is missing as if it ran off when things went south.  Roger is over near a back door with Bailey near the pantry.  The three of them form a triangle around the victim. 

“Rachel Matthews, age thirty-seven.  Appears to have been home alone when she was killed.  Cause of death looks like the stabbing.”  Bailey jots down a thought in her notebook. 

"Has Scorsese taken a look?" Riggs asks. 

"Not yet, he's caught up on another homicide.  Say's he'll be here as soon as he can," Bailey answers.  She looks over Riggs shoulder as Cruz steps in to the room. 

Cruz holds up a framed photo in his gloved hand.  "Boyfriend maybe?"  The man in the photo with Rachel Matthews appears to be around the same age. 

"Good a place to start as any," Riggs quips.  “Has next of kin been notified?” 

“Just a few minutes ago,” Roger speaks for the first time.  “Parents, they live in Florida.”  His voice is soft and slow. 

Riggs breaks eye contact with Roger and looks towards the deceased.  There are no comforting words here- no ‘lived a full life’ or ‘died peacefully.’  There isn’t even ‘died quickly and painlessly.’  Finding her killer is the least anyone can do for her parents.  Riggs turns away and pushes past Cruz on his way towards the door. 

"And where do you think you're going?!" Roger calls. 

"Taking a look around!" Riggs says without turning.  And he will take a look around, but there's no sense in them all crowding the same room.  "Holler for me when Scorsese gets here!" 

Outside, a single news crew has joined the crowd. 


	3. Lunch Time Musings (Roger)

What was supposed to be a cute lunch date at a café near the courthouse becomes sitting on a bench downing coffee and half a panini in the blink of an eye. 

"Are you sure you have time?" Roger asks, disbelief creeping into his voice as he watches Trish swallow a bite almost without chewing.

"Of course!  I just need to be ready to go back in there incase they end up needing me early.  Now..." Trish pauses as she glances at her cell phone, "where were we?"

Roger wipes his palms on his pants and glances away towards the street and sidewalk.  "I was just saying that I invited Riggs and he turned me down."

"And you think this means what?"

Roger head swivels to look at her.  "It means he heard your ridiculousness," he says while throwing his hands out in front of himself.

Dark brown eyes narrow at him.  "The man only eats every other meal and it usually comes from a vending machine so I don't know why that's my fault."

"Because... because _you_ asked _me_..."  Roger settles for making a vague hand gesture as though trying to conjure memories of last night.  Memories best blacked out.

Trish sighs and looks out towards the street.  The hot sun forces her to nearly shut her eyes.  It glints off her nails and jewelry as she thinks through what to say next.  "Roger, baby, I don't know what to say."

Roger shrugs and sets his sandwich down.  "That makes both of us I guess."


	4. Lunch Time Musings (Riggs)

Paperwork isn't going to do itself is what Riggs told Roger when he turned him down for lunch.  It was a little cold, but Riggs knew from last night that Roger's plan was originally to grab lunch with Trish.  No sense in crashing in on their lunch date or stealing Roger away just because a case came in. 

Roger didn't push.  He hesitated, asked if Riggs was sure, and then headed out.  Riggs almost regrets his decision when he thinks about the vending machine meal awaiting him.

Riggs pours over the usual: Facebook pages, phone records, job history, and so on.  He focuses on minute details that don't seem to amount to anything and tries to keep his mind from wandering.  It doesn't take long for all the numbers to bleed together like they’re melting on the page.

Riggs pushes back from his desk a little and props his feet up on the corner of it.  He pulls a pile of paperwork into his lap and leans back in a deep stretch.

"Bailey, what do you make of this?" Cruz asks, standing up and walking over to her desk.  Her long black ponytail swishes as she spins to look at him before he sets a folder down in front of her.  The space between them narrows as he leans over her slightly, pointing out something illegible from where Riggs is sitting.

Riggs is aware he sometimes misreads situations.  When you follow your gut, you can hardly bat a thousand.  Maybe he's reaching, but he gets the feeling that if anyone is attracted to anyone in their little office it's Cruz and Bailey.  At the very least they've noticed each other not in the typical, detached, professional way.  More like in the eyes-tracing-jawlines-and-mouths type of way.

"And we don't know where her extra money came from?" Bailey asks.  When she twists to look up at Cruz her elbow bumps against his hip and she pulls her arm in quickly.

"That's just the thing, all this money looks like it was cash she deposited into her own account.  Work raise?"

"Nah, would have just gone in as a regular automatic deposit unless she has some under-the-table job.  I haven’t seen anything to suggest that."

Riggs doubts anyone else in the office has picked up on the two of them.  Even he can't pick out anything that says that they're into each other- unless flinching from physical contact counts.  Still, if he can pick up on the subtleties here surely he would know if his own partner was interested in him?

His _married, almost certainly straight_ partner.  What was Trish even thinking?

The elevator dings in greeting as its doors open.  Roger practically glides from the elevator into the bullpen.  "Guess what Scorsese just told me?"

"Wild guess – our victim was stabbed to death?" Riggs asks, shit-eating grin spread across his face.

Roger shoots him down with narrowed eyes.  "No," he says, "well yes, but we already knew that.  What we did not know is that she was pregnant."

Riggs’ smile falls.  He moves to sit up straight.

"Did Scorsese say how far along she was?" Bailey asks.

"First trimester, about ten week."

"The money would have started coming in during that time," Bailey says, looking back towards Cruz.

"Baby daddy money," Cruz says excitedly and picks up the folder from Bailey's desk.

"Would somebody please fill me in on what we're talking about?" Roger asks.

"Cruz found something, looks like Rachel Matthews has been getting some cash payments recently,” Riggs answers.  Riggs stands, grabbing his jacket and stuffing the last of a half-eaten doughnut into his mouth.  "Ready to visit this boyfriend?" He mumbles around the donut at Roger.

"I thought you'd never ask."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and constructive criticism always welcome!


	5. Kitchen Talk

"Well, that proves it, he definitely overheard us!" Roger shouts as he enters his home.  Out of the corner of his eye he can see the dining room baby monitor staring him down as though it’s his archnemesis.  A white heap of plastic villainy just shy of a mask and cape.  Roger shudders and loosens his tie as Trish pokes her head around the corner. 

"What are screaming about?" she asks before disappearing back into the kitchen. 

Roger follows, arms outstretched dramatically.  "Riggs!  He definitely overheard us on the baby monitor last night.  How could we have been so-" 

Trish shoots him a look over her shoulder that says what-do-you-mean-'we'?  She turns back toward the counter and bends over to reach for a pot in one of the lower cupboards.  Her backside looks particularly curvy as he carefully considers his next words. 

""I mean I would have turned it off if I had known what you had in mind.  I can't believe I didn't turn it off."  Roger turns away and walks over to Harper's highchair, smiling at her.  Picking her up makes him feel like he’s shedding fifty pounds of stress just like that.  He turns back to Trish.  "Honey, are you not even going to say anything? 

Trish pulls pasta out of a high cupboard.  Once she sets it on the table she slowly turns around with a hand on her hip.  "Roger, we talked about this at lunch.  Riggs always takes off after dinner.  It doesn't mean anything.  Not chatting you up at the crime scene hardly screams avoiding you." 

"You didn't see him in the car ride to the boyfriend's house!  The man was practically _entirely_  silent.  We usually have at least some sort of banter thing going but he didn't say a word.  Not. One. Word." 

"He does get quiet sometimes." She says it with a small smile like she's in on some secret that nobody else is. 

Roger scowls and looks at Harper.  She snuggles herself into his chest, mouth agape.  "You believe me don't you?" he whispers to her. 

Trish giggles.  She leans back against the counter, her purple tulip skirt riding up, and smiles at Roger.   

Damn, she is gorgeous.  Tiny and feisty and smart and so completely perfect.  How would he survive without her? 

"I just have a really bad feeling about this."  It's an understatement.  This is the type of shit that starts sexual harassment suits and gets people transferred.  The only thing going for him is that Riggs is certifiable and that's more of a double-edged-sword than anything. 

Trish knocks her foot against his. 

"Think of the rumors!" he says, eyes pleading at his wife. 

Trish rubs a hand over his arm and then reaches up to kiss him.  "Baby, Riggs wouldn't say anything even if he knew, and people definitely won't suspect anything."  She says it patiently, and he knows she believes every word. 

"Have you always been this optimistic?" 

Trish laughs with that big, white smile of hers.  Damn if he doesn't love that smile... 

Her expression softens and she looks down at the floor before quietly adding "you've been thinking about this a lot." 

Roger looks away and kisses Harper on the head.  "Mm." 

"You figure it out yet?" 

Roger looks at Trish and tries to imagine what she's thinking, but can't.  He knocks his foot against hers before leaning into her and wrapping a free arm around her.  "I still think you're out of your mind..."  He kisses her squarely on the forehead.  She chuckles and her body shakes against him.  Hot breath puffs over his neck. 

"I love you," he says.  It comes out more like a promise than a statement.  It's him swearing that she's wrong.  Because even though she loves being right isn't this a time when she's really hoping to be proved wrong?  He's not about to hurt this woman. 

He squeezes her hand a little too hard.


	6. Session 1

Dr. Cahill leans back and crosses her legs, clipboard in her lap.  "So how are things?" she asks with a smile.  Morning light streams in through the windows and floods the room. 

Riggs shoots her a small smile in greeting and runs a hand through his hair.  A tousled curl falls out and  frames his face.  He looks around the room.  How is he? 

"Same shit different day," he finally says. 

"What do you mean by that?" 

He runs a hand over his mouth while he searches for words.  "Got up, went to work, dead body, investigate.  Same shit different day." 

"We talked a little bit before about difficulties sleeping, is that still the case?" 

At times he feels sorry for Dr. Cahill.  He's hardly the perfect patient and she is without a doubt wasting her time on his enduring psychological issues.  There's no getting better after losing Miranda, just checking off boxes for the department. 

"I sleep," he says.  And it's true – drinking helps. 

"Are you still dreaming about Miranda?" 

"Of course," he says, waving a hand that suggests defeat. 

Dr. Cahill doesn't say anything, just sort of looks at him with a sarcastic smile begging him to elaborate.  Riggs falls back against the couch and rubs his hands over his eyes.  A clock ticks audibly.   

"Except last couple nights," he finally says, eyes still closed. 

"What was different about them?" 

He sits up maybe a little too suddenly.  "It's not like I always dreamed about her, just most nights." 

She nods with new understanding.  "Did you drink last night?" 

"Of course." 

"Because you were thinking about Miranda?" 

He sighs.  "It's complicated," he says.  And it is.  Dinner at the Murtaugh's, lingering thoughts of the family he lost, overheard conversations, dodging his partner at work... all of it is complicated.  None of it sounds like something he wants to share.   

"Did it have anything to do with the case you're working?" 

Riggs' train of thought comes to a halt and he searches Cahill over. The question hardly sounds casual though she probably intended it to.  She's politely asking if he's affected by the murder of a pregnant woman.  Maybe Captain Avery gave her the heads up.   

The side of her mouth twitches down slightly and he knows that she knows that he knows.  

"Well," he starts, deciding to play along, "the victim is – was – pregnant so that's..."  Riggs searches for a word but can't find it.  He had tried not to think about that aspect of the case. 

"It reminded you of losing Miranda?" 

Riggs suddenly wished he was still drunk.  Scratching at the back of his neck he answers "sure" and realizes today's session is not going to be one of the easier ones. 

Dr. Cahill sets her clipboard aside and leans forward with her elbows on her knees.  "Riggs, it's not unusual after a traumatic experience to want to numb out, to use alcohol or drugs or anything to make the mind stop.  It is an extremely common coping mechanism.  And then pairing it with dangerous situations for a rush and to... well, to feel alive.  And then jumping back and forth between the two extremes." 

He appreciates her words, even though he already knows what he does and why. 


	7. Debrief and Disperse

Roger casually spins in his chair so that he can watch Riggs walk into the office.  If the man had just spent fifty minutes opening up to the shrink about his coworker's inappropriate attraction it didn't show.  He looked like the same old Riggs, just with less prolonged eye contact. 

Probably also more tired than usual. 

Roger doesn't say it often, but this time he has to admit that Trish is wrong.  Riggs definitely knows. 

"How'd that alibi come back?" Riggs calls out before collapsing into his chair. 

"Checks out, guy was at work, half a dozen colleagues can place him there," Bailey says. 

"Well that's not good." 

"He seemed genuinely surprised when we told him Rachel was pregnant.  I don't think he had a clue," Roger says.  "And he says he wasn't giving her any money." 

"So where's the money coming from?" Cruz asks. 

"Maybe a different boyfriend?" Bailey asks.  Cruz gives her a surprised look.  "What?  She wouldn't be the first girl playing the field, and we've ruled out second jobs and money from family." 

"We should get Scorsese to rush the paternity test to be sure," Roger says.  "Boyfriend already gave up a DNA sample so we could rule him out." 

"I'll go see if he has anything new for us and ask him to move the test to the top of his list."  Bailey turns away, file in hand, and heads for the elevator. 

"Ah, that's alright Bailey I've got this," Riggs says, stepping forward.  He gives her a slight grin and snatches the file out of her hands. 

"You're gonna go?" She asks, surprise in her voice. 

"Course," he says before turning and jogging away. 

"Really Riggs?" Roger calls, hoping it doesn't sound desperate. 

"Need some medical advice!" 

Roger doesn't believe that answer for a second, but it seems to satisfy Bailey even as she quietly says "he took my folder."  Riggs with secret ailments hitting up free advice from a guy who examines dead bodies hardly falls outside of the realm of possibility. 

"Alright you two," Roger says, pointing at Cruz and Bailey.  "I want you to hit up coworkers, see what they know." 

"Got it, boss." 

Roger sighs as he watches their backs retreat.  They're not perfectly in step with each other but they're pretty damn close.  Roger looks away and can clearly see Captain Avery sitting in his office, hunched over his desk. 

This... mess of a situation... when it gets too big to ignore will he fill in his old partner or will Avery have already figured it out?  Will Avery carefully rearrange partnerships and locations so that Roger and Riggs only ever have to pass each other in the hallway a couple times a month?  Who will get reassigned to babysit the nearly-suicidal, over-the-top, barely-holding-it-together Martin Riggs? 

At least he doesn't have to worry about homophobia coming from his superior. 

Roger rolls his shoulders and tries to relieve some of the tension there.  It doesn't make sense stressing about a future that might never happen when it's wreaking havoc on his body. 

"Damn it, Riggs," he mutters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this!


	8. Office Gossip & World's Worst Boss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more case oriented, but the next chapter will be more about "the question."  
> CN: mentions of racism

VIII: Office Gossip 

 

Bailey's eyes trail over the company staff warily.  The way they look at Cruz, bodies slightly tense and eyes staring as they walk by, makes her own body go rigid in response.  The employees not wearing uniforms are well dressed, polished, and look like the type of people to clutch at their purses when faced with people who look like her and Cruz. 

If Cruz notices he doesn't show it. 

They stand side by side in a mega corporation lobby.  The sound of clacking heels echoes throughout the wide, open space.  Bailey eyes the security guard calling to alert staffers that detectives had arrived.  Once again, a thought nags at her.  She turns towards Cruz, head cocked. 

"So what do think is going on with Murtaugh and Riggs?" she asks. 

Cruz shifts his gaze away from the far wall to look at her and shrugs.  "You tell me, you've known them longer," he answers. 

Bailey holds back a snort.  She knows Murtaugh, admires him even, but she hardly knows anything about Riggs. 

"You're telling me you haven't noticed some extra weirdness?" she asks, narrowing her eyes at him. 

Cruz shrugs.  "You telling me you don't have a theory?" 

Bailey looks away and rolls her shoulder slightly.  The security guard flashes her an awkward thumbs up that she hopes means someone will be with them soon.  Shiny and bright, the floor reflects her frowning face back at her. 

"Don't worry about it," Cruz says, his voice taking on a slightly nasally quality.  "You do twice as much work as anyone else, if there was a problem you'd know it." 

Bailey's eyes flicker up in acknowledgment but she stops herself from looking at Cruz.  Thinking over his words she gives him a small nod.   

The sound of footsteps gets distinctly loud behind them.  "Detectives?"  Cruz and Bailey turn to see the older, posh woman behind them.  "Hello, I can show you to Miss. Matthews' desk.  Follow me," she says before leading them to a set of elevators. 

As the doors open Bailey gestures with a nod for Cruz to go first.  He stops, shoulders hunched a little more than usual as he waves his hand slightly.  Ladies-first isn't the kind of mentality she wants in a partner but she steps in ahead of him despite that.  The vast company elevator fills and empties with people as it stops on various floors, but the only person to accidentally brush against her is Cruz who carefully shifts to make room. 

Bailey exits the elevator first without waiting for a wave from him. 

The desk they're lead to is small and tucked into a cubicle, its surface neatly organized and devoid of anything personal.  Cruz pulls open drawers as Bailey takes in the neighbors.  A woman two cubicles down and across the aisle smiles awkwardly at Bailey. 

"Be right back," she says to Cruz without a backwards glance. 

"Hi, I'm Detective Bailey.  I'm investigating the murder of your colleague, Rachel Matthews, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" 

"Oh, um, I'm not sure I know anything but whatever I can do to help," she says, setting down a folder.  "I'm Margaret.  Margaret Fisher that is."  Her smile is a little less awkward and more eager this time. 

"Hi Margaret," Bailey says, doing the build-a-rapport-protocol to a T.   

When she's done she searches out Cruz.  He looks up from talking to a significantly shorter man and falls in step next to her as they head back towards the elevator.  "Learn anything?" he asks, his voice low. 

"Two things," she says while getting into the elevator.  "Office gossip is rampant here, and little call service Rachel had caught the eye of the big CEO." 

"Great," is all Cruz says as the doors shimmy shut. 

\--- 

IX: World's Worst Boss 

 

When calls to the company to acquire a meeting with the CEO yield nothing, Riggs and Roger just show up as uninvited house guests. 

"Well as I live and breathe!  If it isn't Mr. Angelini himself!"  Riggs smiles from ear to ear and wags his finger at the giant man.  "We've been looking for you." 

"I'm sorry, who are you?" CEO Angelini asks.  He and several others had just exited a large conference room closed off with floor to ceiling glass windows.  He waves away the cluster of business suit wearing types and looks Riggs and Roger up and down, clearly unimpressed with his appraisal of them. 

Which is almost fair considering Riggs' hair has fallen around his face messily and he's wearing a threadbare Henley with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.  Possible stain near the second button. 

"We're LAPD," answers Roger with a quick show of his badge.  "We're here investigating the murder of one of your employees, Rachel Matthews." 

"I've never heard of her," Angelini says.  His broad shoulders widen as he stretches out his arms as though presenting his company to them.  "We employ thousands of people, unfortunately I don't know them all." 

"See, that's odd, 'cause we were told you knew her intimately," Riggs says.  A couple people squeeze by them in the hall, both pointedly not looking in their direction.   

Mr. Angelini's cocky smile falls away and is replaced with a glare.  "Look, gentlemen, I'm afraid you've been misled.  I'm certain I don't know anything relevant to your investigation, but perhaps you could call my secretary and schedule something." 

"We've tried that and it hasn't worked for us," Roger cut in.  "Maybe we could speak about this privately, in your office?" 

"Afraid I have to get going, business never stops-" 

Roger fights the urge to cut him off.  Evasion, evasion, evasion.  Next the man is going to be telling them that his private jet is about to take off and he needs to get right on it.  Riggs no doubt has already stopped listening to the excuses, distracted by the people walking by them.  Most of them pointedly looking anywhere but at their boss. 

Even knowing that it's a losing battle Roger still goes back and forth with Mr. Angelini.  It doesn't take long for the conversation to shut down. 

"Unbelievable," Roger mutters under his breath as he watches the CEO's back walk away.  The word 'scumbag' comes to mind. 

Out of the corner of his eye Roger can see Riggs scratching a finger over the back of his neck.  The man is surprisingly subdued, quietly hanging back, and Roger can't shake the feeling that he's being observed.  Just as Roger is about to resign himself and Riggs to leaving empty-handed there's a flurry of movement from the other man.  Riggs makes a beeline for the conference room, carefully avoiding bumping into Roger in the process.   

"What do you think you're doing?" Roger half shouts at his partner as he watches him search the room.  With a wild grin across his face, Riggs holds the trashcan up into view. 

"Can you say 'DNA'?"  Riggs asks as he pulls the bag from the bin.  Roger can see even from where he's standing that it's full of nearly a dozen coffee cups, but no apparent names written on them. 

"How are we even going to know which coffee cup is his?  Riggs?  Riggs, I'm not carrying this!"  Roger shouts as the bag is abandoned at his feet and his partner takes off down the hall in search of a secretary or gofer who can tell him what Mr. Angelini's typical order is.   

Roger scowls as he picks up the bag and follows a few paces behind his partner.  At least the man seems a little more energetic and in his element now.  Roger had been hoping for this side of Riggs, slightly manic and a little loose, because it was preferential to the quieter and more reserved way the man had been carrying himself the past couple of days.  With this in mind something solidifies for Roger – a sort of self-imposed promise (or punishment). 

If things aren't back to normal between them by the end of the day then they're going to have to talk about _it._  

Roger groans.  Confronting Riggs will be worse than when he gave RJ and Riana 'the talk,' but he knows that at some point he has to do what he has to do.   

An erratic but short search leads Riggs to find Mr. Angelini's secretary who is surprisingly more helpful in person than on the phone.  She pushes her hair back over a shoulder as she smiles at Riggs.  

Roger doubts Riggs would call what he's doing flirting, but that's what it looks like to others, and probably to the secretary still smiling sweetly.  Mustache hovering over a sly grin and voice hushed low plus the way Riggs is bending over, hands splayed across the desk as he leans in a little – seems flirtatious.  Except Riggs doesn't flirt, not after Miranda, and Roger knows it.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism and other feedback are welcome.


End file.
